Memories in Ink
by CarvingKnife
Summary: Germany is stuck at Spain's house, bored out of his mind. He happens across an old journal that the Spaniard had kept from his darker days in history, and is surprised by what he discovers within its pages. Fall of the Aztec Empire darkfic.


**A/N: This is different. I have no clue where this came from. It is NOTHING like anything I have ever written before. The idea hit me, and I had to run with it. I've been wanting to write from a new fandom for a while, and I do love Hetalia. Well, enjoy and please review. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Axis Powers: Hetalia. Hidekaz Himaruya does. I just toy with the characters a bit. **

_1,000 Ways to Prepare Tomatoes. . .Gardening and its Healing Properties. . ._

Germany sighed as he browsed the titles of each book, sliding a finger down their sides as he went. If he was going to be stuck at Spain's place, he would have liked to have something decent to read, but for such a large library, the Spaniard's choice of books had much to be desired. He should have expected Italy's visit with his brother to go over the time he had scheduled and brought his own book, but the thought never crossed his mind.

He picked a book at random, deciding that learning about The Joys of a Hike in the Woods was better than just sitting there. Scowling, Germany tugged on the spine of the book in question, but he paused when he heard a distinct THUNK as if something had fallen to the back of the shelf.

"What's this?" the blonde murmured, pulling a leather-bound journal out of its hiding place. The cover looked old and worn from much use, and as he flipped it open, Germany discovered that most of the pages were either torn out or destroyed. Only the last few pages still remained intact, and they seemed to be covered with water marks that made the heavily scrawled words near impossible to make out.

"My history no longer matters," he read out loud. "Only the gravity of what I have done feels real right now, along with the curse she promised me."

Jackpot. It was obviously someone's journal from war. A Spanish soldier who felt guilt for the people he killed while serving his country, perhaps? Germany decided to read on, taking a seat with the diary at one of the many tables in the library.

_Had I known that the man who called out for Cortés on the Cuban docks was the Governor, Diego de Velásquez himself, I would have forced our captain-general to return to shore. Velásquez knew that Cortés was insane. He knew that the man would disobey orders and create an expedition of his own. I should have known better as well, but I was just so happy to be on that ship, to extend my adventure away from my land for just a little while and travel to a new world. I was so naïve. _

_ I am the personification of Spain itself, yet I was not strong enough to stop this from happening._

"Spain?" Germany was surprised. He would have never guessed that the pages of this ratty journal would have been written by a country. He suddenly became more interested in whatever secrets these written words had to offer. Getting comfortable, he continued reading.

* * *

><p>The journey was long but far from treacherous, and when we finally saw land, I rejoiced in the beauty of this new world. Pyramids rose from the ground shaped like giant stone alters. Even Cortés had to admit that it was quite a sight, staring in awe with his mouth open for just a moment before shaking his head and returning to the underbelly of the ship.<p>

After somehow collecting a translator in Yucatan, we disembarked at a place they called "Potonchan". The people were an odd sort, dark-skinned and wearing the bare minimum of dress, but they seemed friendly enough, even offering us food and golden trinkets. They spoke to Cortés for a while, but I could not understand their language, nor could I make out the whispered words of our translator. I didn't care. I was too busy pondering these odd people and their way of life. I was fascinated, and I couldn't force myself to stop and pay attention to what was really happening.

A battle soon broke out. I didn't question what had happened. I only assumed that the Potonchan people had spoken words of war and Cortés had retaliated. Frankly, the fight was exhilarating. I loved the action and the feel of the guns in my hands. I remember a moment when the general paused to smile at me. I didn't even notice the blood staining his face and teeth. I just beamed back at him and continued the fight.

It wasn't until I watched our ships burn from the shore that I began to question our leader's sanity.

"What is the meaning of this, Cortés!" I called to him from the beach, looking on in horror as the masts of our glorious vessels sank beneath the waves.

"This was a necessity, Antonio," he answered calmly, using my human name. "There were those who wished to betray us by stealing one of our ships and returning to Cuba. This was a preemptive action."

"Why can we not return to Cuba?" I asked, finally realizing that something was not right. We had traveled further than we were meant to, and I could tell that Cortés had not yet reached the destination he sought.

"We will not be welcome if we return now," the general explained. "I have renounced the title that Governer Velásquez had given me, and severed any ties with that man. We are no longer under his rule."

I was shocked. When did this happen? How did I not notice what was going on around me? I was too busy daydreaming and enjoying the path of battles that we etched into the land to care about the twisted agenda of our leader.

"Where will we go now?"

"We must reach the capital city of Tenochtitlán. Only there will we be able to conclude our conquest," he spoke with a passion that I have only seen in the midst of battle. It almost frightened me.

"Conquest?" I questioned.

"Yes! Our conquest! We may not be welcome now, but think of when we return after we have taken over!"

"I'm not comfortable with this. It is beyond our orders."

Cortés sighed, wrapping a brotherly arm around my shoulders and speaking softly, as if to comfort me. "Antonio, you are España incarnate. These men may be under my rule, but they are _your_ _conquistadors_, your conquerors. We only live to serve our country, to serve _you_. I only want what is best for Spain. You should, as well."

I couldn't argue. He was right. At least, that was what I felt at the time. That is why I nodded my head and allowed this madness to continue. I wish I had not been so weak.

We continued on to Tenochtitlán, growing closer to the terror that would change my life forever.

There was no mistaking the grand city when we finally arrived. Temples and towers rose up to greet the sky. Masses of people littered the streets in their strange dress. Many of the men walked the roads casually dressed in armor with only their faces showing, as if ready for war. Men and women alike wore golden necklaces, bracelets, and rings pierced through their skin.

We were approached by a procession carrying a man of great importance, hidden inside a litter draped with the finest cloth I had ever seen, and held on the shoulders of strong men. The one inside emerged and welcomed us with gifts of golden necklaces that shone in the sunlight. I learned that his name was Montezuma II and that he was the Emperor if the Aztecs. We were lead inside the city and allowed to stay.

In all honesty, I was happy. I wanted to know more about these people, and it appeared as if we would be staying for at least a little while. All thoughts of conquering this city fell from my mind and were replaced by exploration. This city made of gold and brick was like a paradise.

I do not remember how long I had been there before I met her. I just remember seeing her standing in a doorway. Now, even though I did not understand their language, there are some things that are universal. This lovely woman with a mischievous glimmer in her eye beckoning to me was certainly one of those things.

I followed her into a room only to suddenly find myself pushed against the wall, a knife at my throat. I could have simply pushed her aside, but when she began to speak, I paused.

"Why are you and your people still here? I beseech you, leave before this façade of friendship breaks apart."

It was not so much the words she said, but the fact that I could understand them. There were three possible scenarios that allowed this to happen. Either she knew enough Spanish to speak it fluently, I had suddenly been struck by the ability to magically understand multiple tongues, or. . .

"Who are you?"

"My people know me by a different name, but you may call me Aztec."

"_Madre de dios_," I couldn't help but whisper. She was like me, a personification of her glorious land, and she approached me of all people, which meant. . .

"I know what you are, and I suppose you know what I am as well?" she spoke, cocking her head to the side and removing the ornate blade from my neck. I nodded, taking the time to get a good look at her. While she was beautiful, there was nothing about her that really made her stand out from the rest of her people. Then again, I didn't stand out much from my people either.

"I am a part of this land," she continued, crossing her arms and watching me with a look of disdain. "I feel the trees move and the ground shift. I hear the worries of my people, the Emperor included, and I want you to know that your presence has caused nothing but unrest here."

"What have we done to affect you in such a way?"

"Are you daft?" she scowled, twisting her pretty face into an expression of both annoyance and anger. "They think that you are the return of the banished god, Quetzalcoatl. He swore that he would return and reclaim what was once his. You are here. When the omens foretold the fall of this city, you appeared. What does that say to you? Of course my people are scared. Your leader is mentally unstable and paranoid. I can see it in his eyes, the way they shift like the patterns of a dragonfly. His only goal is devastation."

"Cortés? But. . ." it was then that I actually understood. Cortés was crazy. He had mapped a path of destruction on his way to this great city. He had told me that he planned to conquer Tenochtitlán, but to eradicate this golden capital filled with so much beauty? It couldn't be true.

Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an ear-splitting scream. Aztec and I shared a quick look before rushing outside and following the sounds of panic.

"No!" the personified empire cried, staring up at the steps of one of the towers. I was afraid to look. I knew what I was going to see, but I wanted to remain ignorant of what I had allowed to happen. Still, I forced my eyes upward.

My captain-general stood at the top, surrounded by his fellow Spaniards, with a gun pointed directly at Montezuma's head. No one moved. The natives would not risk the life of their leader by jumping to his aid. Aztec stood beside me, dark eyes widened in fear. I had to do something.

"Cortés! What do you think you're doing?" I called out, loud enough for all to hear.

"Antonio, you of all people should understand what must be done! It's for the good of Spain! You are España, you will be the one who feels the glory of the fall of the great Aztec Empire!" he replied, a manic grin growing on his face. Flecks of blood still stained his teeth from those he had killed.

"I've heard it all before, and I don't care! We do not need to destroy this place!"

"If we do not act, they will destroy us!" he laughed, tightening his grip on Montezuma and digging the gun against his skin. "He has been plotting to kill us all in our sleep. If we do not set an example for these people, it will be the end of the Spanish conquest, and inevitably, the end of you!"

I did not know what to say. Could he be telling the truth? Killing their leader would not destroy the empire, would it? I felt as if we were all on an insane chess board and I needed to make the next move. No matter what I do or which piece I move, the ending would be disastrous. I never liked chess.

Defeated, I did nothing but hang my head.

"What are you doing?" I heard Aztec demand from beside me. I did not lift my gaze, even when I heard Cortés give the command to his men to end the emperor's life. I heard stones connect with flesh, instead on the shock of gunfire as I had expected, but still I did not raise my head.

I felt the dark-skinned empire clutch at my arm as she fell to the ground in pain. Puzzled, I knelt beside her, allowing her fingers to dig into my flesh as she reached out for anything tangible.

"What's happening to you?" I questioned, searching her eyes for the answer.

"You fool," she spat, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth. "The fall of the Aztec Empire begins with the fall of our Emperor Montezuma II. You have doomed us all. You have ensured my death."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could manage any words, I heard the voice of the leader of the _conquistadors _call out one simple order. I will never forget the way he said it, the hint of laughter in his voice. It will haunt me forever.

"Kill them all!"

It was then that hell was released. The Spanish soldiers attacked, killing everyone in sight. Men, women, children. None were safe from these murderous people led by a madman.

Unsure of what else to do, I dragged Aztec away from the fray, holding her head in my lap and watching helplessly as she writhed with the agony of her doomed kingdom. Her eyes focused on me, glazing over with pain every few seconds. I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," seemed so inappropriate, yet it was all that my mouth would form. Once, twice, three times, I repeated it until the tears in my eyes clogged my throat with sobs.

"I. . ." she tried to speak, but was caught by another bout of pain, more blood spilling from her mouth. "I blame you, España," she finally managed. I wished it weren't so, but I understood why she did.

"I curse you and your damned country. May your life be filled with as much grief, pain, and sorrow as you have inflicted upon my people and me on this day," she murmured, holding back cries of anguish and grinding her nails against my skin.

I felt her fade. It was slow, and torturous, but I held on to her still as she slipped away, disappearing into dust and crumbling in my hands. My tears formed pools at my feet. They were eventually met by the blood that flowed ceaselessly through the streets. The blood that might as well have been staining my own hands.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mein Gott<em>," Germany whispered, blue eyes wide as he flipped the page only to discover that what was left of the journal had been destroyed by the wet splotches all over the page. Running a finger over one of those marks, he brought the page to his nose, taking in a distinct scent of salt.

"Tears?"

"He couldn't finish it without sobbing like a baby," a familiar, thickly accented voice said from behind him.

"_Brüder_?" the German country questioned, turning to find Prussia leaning against a bookshelf.

"I walked in on him tearing that book apart, ranting about how he needs to get his history out of his head," the albino man said, nodding his head at the journal in question. "After he wrote it all down, he passed out. Woke up feeling pretty damn good about himself. He said it was because of the sunlight. He likes the sunlight."

"But how could. . ." Germany began, pausing because he was unsure of how to phrase the question.

"How could happy-go-lucky-cheerful-as-hell Spain be hiding such a horrible past?" Prussia finished for him.

The blonde man just nodded.

"Simple. He doesn't remember."

"How do you forget something like this?"

The silver-haired ex-country pushed himself away from the shelf and reached for the journal, flipping through its worn pages. "If something is bad enough, it's easy to just forget." He tossed the book back into its hiding place in the back of the shelves.

"He still has nightmares about it though," Prussia continued, as his brother just sat at the table, trying to wrap his mind around it. "And he remembers when he's drunk. France and I try to contain him when this happens. He gets pretty damn scary. He blames everything that has ever gone wrong on that woman's curse. All of the war and poverty. It's depressing to see him so damaged."

"What is it like?" Germany suddenly spoke up.

"What's what like?"

"Watching another country die," he explained, lowering his voice and looking away from his older brother. "I wasn't there when _Vati_ died, so I don't know."

Prussia thought for a moment, a rare sad expression crossing his face before he placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "It's the worst thing you can ever imagine. Considering how Aztec died, I'm surprised that Spain has any sanity left."

Germany didn't say another word. He just gazed out the window in thought. He didn't notice when Prussia left, nor did he notice when Spain walked in with Romano and Italy in tow until Italy planted himself in the German's lap.

"Ve~ Germany looks like he's thinking too hard," the innocent Italian smiled sweetly.

"Are you alright, _mi amigo_?" Spain's cheerful voice echoed in the larger man's head. After reading what he had, the genuine smile that happily spread its way across the Spaniard's face took Germany by surprise. He brushed the feeling off quickly.

"_Ja_, I'm fine. Italy, are you ready to go?"

"_Si_!"


End file.
